The Story That You Shouldn't Read
by the-darkest-nights
Summary: Don't read this. It's kind, sort of, definitely, positively lame. but if you like stuff that don't make sense go ahead. My first fic, so don't be too nasty .


Dean's hands were sweating. Profusely, at that. His mouth was exceptionally dry. His body was rigid and somehow his heart had climbed out of its rightful place in the ribcage and planted itself in his throat.

All in all it was not a situation the hunter usually found himself in. And that was saying something since the hunter had faced werewolves, vamps (those nasty blood suckers!), ghosts, ghouls, demons and just about any other nasty supernatural beings on God's Green Earth.

But here he was, very out of his depth, and a small part of him wanted to turn back and take refuge in the Impala. Though that was probably not a good idea because Sam was there. With Gabriel. Dean shivered slightly at that, his mind having no problem conjuring up images of what the Archangel was doing to 'defile' his little brother at the moment. Either way, running away not an option now. He had to do this. So he gulped to somewhat calm down his nerves which were currently in overdrive mode, and a voice in the back of his head started to question whether any of these calming tricks really ever worked. Specially the whole take-a-deep-breath trick.

And hus his mind successfully made up excuses to stall the work at hand. However, this story has to have a meaning, so me being the all powerful author, I command that a sudden sharp noise (c'mon use that imagination of yours, maybe a glass breaks, some shots are fired, SOMETHING!) brings our green eyed hunter out of his reverie.

So Dean is startled back to his senses and the thoughts that seemed very important a split second ago was lost into oblivion.

Anyways, on with the story, he went back to staring at the motel door like it was a very complex puzzle. He noticed, it was a pale yellow colour and the brass numbers cheerily announced that it was indeed Room 407 in the tiny inn with no name, in the dusty, small town which incidentally also had no name (it perhaps did a long, long time ago, but the name had faded from its residents memories much like the paint on the wall of the motel). At this point Dean's mind reminded him that he was yet again stalling, with some part of his mind grimacing at how much his conscience sounded like Sam when he is in one of his bitch modes.

So again Dean returned to the job of staring at the door and wondering how he would complete the 'mission'. A long suffering sigh escaped from the hunter's lips, and somehow deciding the future of the human race seemed easier at that time.

But Dean, being Dean, of course, never went for the easy kill. (He preferred to blame that on his superiuor genetics.)

However, Dean's train of thought was viciously attacked by a unseen giant, and derailed, burned and for all purposes, became non-existent when the door (the motel door, y'all! Pay attention to the story!) opened in one smooth motion and Dean was faced with the exact creature that he didn't want to face at the moment.

Not that he was scared, of course. Dean Winchester did not get scared.

And he DIDN'T gulp nervously. Of course, not! (What were you thinking?) And he didn't feel all light-headed, and the butterflies that he felt in this stomach was only because of the bad pizza he had for lunch, and was in no way related to the present events. Nope, he was calm and collected. Like those lean agents in the movies strutting around in black suits and Ray Bans, talking into their hidden microphones and basically being awesome in a hot Bond-like way.

No, he just stared calmly at the super hot, yet still awkward and clumsy, angel (who of course, stared back) like he did every day. It was not even staring, he just looked, like normal people do. (Notwithstanding the fact that normal people didn't interact with Messengers of God on a regular basis). And yes, there's a difference between staring and looking!

However, Dean couldn't find a reason as to why he had seemingly lost the power of speech.

So, Dean 'looks' at the **angel** for the next few seconds, until a small silver device was almost thrust in his face by the aforementioned angel.

"Sam texted me, said you needed to talk to me", the monotone, gravelly, sexy voice said. A "However I did not understand the reference he made at the end", was added as an afterthought.

Dean noted at the back of his mind that this was the first time that Cas had broken their staring-contest and started a conversation. That responsibility usually rested on him.

Dean cleared his throat, and nodded diligently. All the while plotting different ways to kill his little brother, who wasn't exactly little.

The angel cocked his head in his usual manner and waited for the question. However this went straight over the hunter's head, who though well versed in angel expressionology, having problems getting his mind to work at the moment.

So, unintentionally, he mirrored the angel's expression, in his own gruff Dean-like way. The angel made no move and stared back in his eerily calm way.

The staring went for a few moments and Dean tried his best to think in the meantime. I mean, he knew his brain had the ability to think coherent thoughts, but he simply couldn't remember how to. It was simple really. His brain had simply shut down. So had his motor functions.

Dean blamed Cas for this. Specifically, those big blue definitely-should-be-made-illegal-in-atleast-the-continental-US eyes that did not-so-innocent things to Dean.

However, this time around Dean recovered from the staring faster than before. He was a fast learner after all.

"Uh, yes, I need to run something through you". His mind frantically tried to come up with reasons for the visit. However he came up blank. He briefly wondered if some witch had done some hoo-doo on him, impairing his abilities.

The angel looked perplexed at this, which was totally expected. You see, Angel 101 does not arm you with understanding of colloquial English.

Dean recognized the utter perplexity in the angel's eyes.

"Ugh, just lemme in, huggybear, it's cold outside".

"Okay". The angel walked to the shaggy motel bed and sat down in his ramrod-straight-yet-petite-princess-like manner on the bed.

Dean let himself in and closed the door. He also took time to remove his boot and open his jacket, all the while keeping his gaze at strictly floor level. He knew inevitably had to turn toward the other occupant of the room. Who was currently staring a hole in the backside of his skull. He could feel it.

But if a small amount of heat had somehow found its way to Dean's cheek at the realization, it was simply because the room was rather hot.

"I need to tell you something", Dean stuttered out before he could find a excuse to do this later.

"Yes, that's why, I believe, you're here." Sometimes he hated the angel and his expertise at stating the obvious.

"Yeah". He tried to string together a meaningful sentence. He sort of hoped Sam would pop in his head and help him. But Sam was obviously busy somewhere else.

The angel just cocked his head, like a cute puppy.

Dean hated that very much. _Damn distracting angel_ s.

"Stop that".

"Stop what?"

"That, THAT! That head tilting…thing". Dean thought that flailing would get the point across and make it sound less lame.

It didn't.

"I don't understand". Squinting ensues.

Seriously, fuck socially awkward angels and their stupidity at getting social cues.

"Leave it". Dean just shoves his hands into his pocket, resisting the urge to pout.

"Okay".

A few minutes pass. Dean sinks down on the old dingy couch. It makes an indignant squeak of protest. Cas does not move even a millimeter.

"And I thought this would be easy. Asking out chicks is easy, but angels? Impossible. Sheesh, what was I thinking?". Dean thought aloud. He was fully depressed by now. His thoughts had taken a bit of a dark turn when he admitted that he did not have the balls to confront an angel. But he should have known that angels have no idea about romance. , not his angel. So he had resigned himself to his fate of being alone for the rest of his life. He distinctly remembered feeling like this when he asked Charice out in third grade and she turned him down. Just worse. Way, way worse.

"Were you thinking of courting me?". Dean did not even have the energy to lie. So he nodded and braced himself for a lecture on appropriate behaviour with angels.

What he didn't expect was to see that the angel had once again entered his personal space like he had a permanent address there. Not that Dean minded. He actually liked it. Very much.

"I accept".

Dean's jaws hit the floor. But before he could say anything, he found himself transported in a nicer hotel and a handful of horny angel.

Now, my nice readers, I will leave it to your imagination.


End file.
